


Pixie Cut

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: gendrya [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: She likes that of all the people in her life, he doesn't have expectations of her. He just lets her be.





	Pixie Cut

Freshman year, Arya gets a pixie cut.

The number of girls who hit on her in passing skyrockets, and she gets a lot of "you look older!" and men calling her slurs and telling her she hasn't found the right man yet. She clips some cheap hair extensions onto her scalp and spends spring semester in hoodies because she hates the way she looks.

Sophomore year, she takes up fencing. She also starts working out.

The girls in her class are overly solicitous -- isn't she worried about bulking up? Boys don't like girls who are stronger than them. At least she's pretty, they sigh, caressing her cheeks with their freshly manicured hands that she envies, she truly does, but if she had nails that long she wouldn't be able to get anything done.

Junior year, she discovers her love for computer programming.

Everyone she talks to about it regurgitates the same tired statistics about women in STEM, and she wants to scream at them because if she becomes a woman in STEM then that's a step in the right direction, isn't it?

Senior year, she visits universities.

She really isn't all that eager to leave her family, but there's one a few hundred miles south that looks especially promising. And when she steps into the CS building, it smells like fresh oranges. She likes that.

The head of the department, Robert Baratheon, is jovial and mentions that he went to school with her father "back in the day." "I had the most massive crush on his sister, too," he sighs, "but then she married that Rhaegar Targaryen. A good match, though. Can't fault her." He grins across his desk.

After, he takes her to lunch with his son, who graduated from the same university with two degrees, one in archaeology, the other in medieval lit. She thinks he'll be an absolute prat, but to her surprise, he's pleasant and engaging. When she discovers that he  _makes his own swords for fun_ , she immediately asks for one. Gendry agrees with a smile.

Freshman year, Gendry brings her the sword in person. It's slender, sharp, and so light it feels like an extension of her arm. She moves to hug him with it still in her hand, and he says quickly, "Careful!" His arms around her linger, as though he doesn't want to let go.

Sophomore year, Gendry hasn't stopped hanging around her dorm, even though he has a job and an apartment of his own and pays bills and taxes and owns a car and is by all accounts a Real Adult. Arya has a reputation on her floor that, in all honesty, she hasn't done anything to discourage, because it's not like she hasn't thought dirty, mildly inappropriate things about her department head's son. They eat meals together, watch TV together, and generally do things that are right on the line between friendship and dating.

Junior year, Arya turns 21 and starts going to bars. Sometimes with Gendry, sometimes with her roommates. One such night, she leaves her friends on the dance floor and has just sat down at her table when the waitress brings a drink over. Arya's confused, she didn't order this? but the waitress says it's from that gentleman, and points, and Arya smiles and nods and knows not to drink even the tiniest sip.

And it's the same night that Gendry plunks himself down into the seat across from her and offers her the rest of his beer.

"No, thanks." She's discovering that drinking is only fun if you're in the mood.

He shrugs. "Suit yourself." He tilts his head back to drain the glass; she glances at her phone to check the time. Neither of them speak for a few minutes. Arya feels like time might unravel.

Gendry leans forward. "Is something wrong?"

She's let her hair grow past her shoulders, and, searching for an excuse, she grasps a hank of it and shoves -- well, tries to shove -- it at his face. "This!"

"So cut it."

She is silent, waging an internal war against everything she never wants to experience again.

He straightens, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know what it's like, people making assumptions about you." His voice is warm and low. "I never knew my mom. It was always just me and Dad, and he caught a lot of flack for that. I was bullied my fair share, too." His eyes drift sideways. "Maybe more," he adds, softly.

"What are you trying to say?" It's late, it's tired, her head is pounding from the music.

He leans forward again, almost across the whole table, his face very close to hers. "Stop caring about what everyone else thinks you should do, and start doing what you think you should do."

She frowns. "So you're saying I should cut my hair."

"If you want," he says. "But if you do, it has to come from you, not from you thinking I want you to, because I don't control what you do with your body."

Senior year, Arya does two things: she gets a pixie cut, and she asks Gendry on a date. Both have spectacular results.


End file.
